


Cognitive Recalibration

by Flora (florahart)



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: First Kiss, M/M, concern over consent, magic healing lips?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-24
Updated: 2012-11-24
Packaged: 2017-11-19 10:41:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/572384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/florahart/pseuds/Flora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For a kinkmeme prompt of, it's Coulson that goes after Clint on the helicarrier, and instead of curing him by hitting him hard, he gets through to him with a kiss.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cognitive Recalibration

Given the points of impact and the apparent trajectory of the carrier, Phil can think of six places Barton might go next. Three he rejects out of hand because he can't get there ahead of him from here. Two more he considers, but in the end, he goes with his gut.

He knows Barton well--they've been voices in each other's ears for eight years, six of those with Tasha in the mix, and he feels in his belly how the man will move. It's saved his ass before, when an unplanned turn brought an arrow into an assailant's throat, and he's counting on it working today. It needs to, because he doesn't lose agents, and he definitely has no intention of starting today.

Also, he can get to a bottleneck first for this one, if he hauls ass now. He drops down a level, jogs through a gaping hole full of rubble that's got to be courtesy of Hulk (Christ, and that is a first-order clusterfuck, but he can't spend any emotion on it now), flat out runs along a maintenance corridor and swings up into a space between a pair of turbines trying like hell to control his breath and focus.

If Barton's coming this way, it'll be any second, and sure enough, Phil doesn't have to wait long. He's moving with purpose, not with care, and Phil hears him far enough out to crouch, slowly, and draw breath even more slowly.

Barton walks past, and Phil eases out behind him, then reaches immediately for the bowstring because he _has_ to have that in his hands or he's fucked.

Barton feels him before he has it, but it's close enough. He grabs at the string just as it comes up and over Barton's shoulder, and they spin each other around hard on the narrow walkway, counterbalancing each other when they'd otherwise fall. 

He knows he's going to take a hit or two, and he's ready, feels his nose start to bleed on the first blow, high inside. The cheekbone is next, and damn it, he hears as much as feel the slight grating sensation that means it's broken; that's probably going to need a pin and it'll look like shit for days. Just as well he has the sunglasses, then. He hits back with his free hand as the bowstring slices into his fingers, and fuck, nerve damage is going to be a problem if it goes much deeper, so he jabs twice and punches hard, throwing his shoulder behind it and following through to bring his hand back on Barton's nape, hauling him in close. 

Barton blinks, and Phil takes the opportunity to let the string go, pushing his arm through the space between the string and the bow instead and wrapping that hand around Barton's shoulders too. His eyes are vacant, starry, and Phil wonders how the hell he's supposed to counteract this kind of brainwash. Nothing in the manual for this, so he's going to have to go with gut and guessing. He drives in with his forehead, meeting the bridge of Barton's nose with a crack, and looks up once again. Barton's eyes are puzzled, still starry, but he's not stopping; his hands are coming up to Phil's throat, and yeah, that's not going to end well.

Phil knows that in a straight up hand to hand fight in the training room, he wins most of the time, but not against Barton. They're more evenly matched than that, and Barton has the advantage right now of not caring if he hurts him for real. Phil... will hurt him for real because it's better than letting him stay like this, but he'll hesitate, and he knows it. Damn it. So he does the only thing he can think of. He leans in again and pushes Barton back into the nearest vertical surface, and then he kisses him.

Everything about the kiss is no kind of ideal. It's too hard, too rough for any of the kinds of care he feels toward Barton, and they both taste of blood. Phil's face is throbbing, and his fingers in Barton's hair, holding him still for the kiss, feel every stiff strand of hair in the wreckage of his skin.

Barton pushes him away, but his eyes have cleared, and Phil isn't going to let go of that advantage. He tells his conscience to shut the fuck up, and leans in again. "Sorry," he mouths against Barton's tongue. "I know you don't--"

Barton pushes him away again, but his hands don't come for Phil's throat again, and Phil warily says, "Agent, report." Warily, but he puts command in the words, all the steel he has, which right now isn't tons but it will do.

"Coulson? What--" Barton frowns and shakes is head, then shakes it again. "Where--why?"

"Report."

"No idea, sir. You were kissing me, sir. Can you..." Barton leans in again. "Please?" And then his lips are on Phil's and Phil is the one kissing back, slow and cautious, still keeping very close tabs on Barton's hands where they're on his chest, gripping his lapels.

When they break apart, panting, Barton's eyes are clear and Phil takes the bow with him as he steps back, keeping his gaze trained on Barton's hands.

"Hey!" Barton says. "You know--Jesus what happened to my..." 

Phil shakes his head. "Sorry. Unavoidable collateral damage," he says. And then he brings up a chunk of railing fast and hard, taking Barton down to the walkway. "Sorry for that, too," he says to his unconscious agent. 

It just takes a second to cuff him, and then Phil wraps up his hand in his handkerchief and drags Barton half-upright, lifting him in a fireman's carry and starting toward Medical.

He collapses the bow and carries it as well; he has every reason to hope Barton can use it for good again soon.

\--

"Sir?" Barton squints at him as he wakes. "Don't remember you hitting that hard, sir."

"Don't remember needing to chase a god out of your brain before," Phil says. "And you weren't exactly gentle." He points at his own swelling face and holds up the hand with bandaging on every finger.

"Did you... did you kiss me, sir?"

"Sorry. It seemed to work."

Barton waves a cuffed hand, flicking away the apology. "Not the way it ever happened in my imagination..."

Phil purses his lips, which only hurts everything all over again. "Do I want to know?"

Barton grins, then grimaces when his lip splits again. "Maybe, but now..." He shrugs. "What else did you do?"

"Cognitive recalibration."

"Clocked me really hard in the head?"

"Yeah." Phil sits on the edge of the bed. "I didn't enjoy it."

"Which, the kissing or--"

"Either. I like when people I kiss have choices," Phil says. "And concussions are nothing to sneeze at.

Barton chews on that a minute, then says, "Sneezing now sounds painful. But. I got choices now. I mean," he rattles the cuffs on both wrists, "not all of 'em, but my mouth is my own."

"Of course it is," Phil says. "What would you be without your mouth?"

"Kiss me again?"

"Wildly inappropriate."

"Do it anyway?" Barton grins, but it's a raw and painful smile. "I need something good to hang onto right now."

Phil looks at him for a long moment, then checks the cuffs, just in case, and leans over until he's almost flat on Barton's chest. "My job to give you what you need, isn't it?"

"I'm counting on it, sir," Barton says. 

Phil searches his eyes for another minute, then nods and presses their lips together. It's awkward, with him sideways and Barton--Clint, he muses--bound to the bed frame, but it's also soft and slow, and it's still bloody but now it's gentle and Clint's tongue is in his mouth...

He sits up as slowly as he'd leaned down, and asks quietly, "Better?"

"And worse," Barton says. "But for now, anything else will have to wait."

Phil nods and puts his good hand over Barton's cuffed one to wait for the doc to come back. "We'll have time."


End file.
